Between You and Me
by Afton Smith
Summary: Sherlock talks to the skull about things John isn't allowed to know while John is out on another date.
1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock."

No response.

"Sherlock."

Nothing.

"Sherlock!"

John's flat mate, the curly haired sociopathic genius, Sherlock Holmes, continued to type avidly on his laptop, not sparing a glance away.

"Right. I'm going out. I have a date. And you are _not _ruining this one."

Sherlock continued to ignore him, typing faster and faster, with rapid fire clicks peppered in between. John did the smart thing and gave up, walking out of the flat with a slight skip in his step-he really liked this girl-and into a chilly British evening.

As the door clicked shut, Sherlock jumped out of his chair and grabbed his skull, the only friend he had besides John. He had named it Charlie, and he was an adequate listener. Lately though, John had filled the space that Charlie usually took up, and Sherlock felt bad about it. He knew talking and apologizing to an inanimate object wasn't normal, but then again, he had never been normal.

"Hello, Charlie. I'm sorry we haven't talked lately. I've never had a friend who could talk before, and John really does love to talk. I'm not used to it. I haven't had time to speak with you, seeing as John asks all these silly questions all the time that require answers. But I'm going to make up for it. I'm going to tell you something John will never know."


	2. Chapter 2

John couldn't believe his luck. After months of riding beside Anthea while going on his trips to Mycroft's office to discuss Sherlock, she had finally caught on to his subtle hints. Well, sort of. Their conversation went like this:

"So, are you busy next Thursday?"

'Oh, I wish. There's an ex-boyfriend of mine that keeps begging for a date. I would love to tell him I was busy, especially if it was with someone else.'

John blinked. Was she hitting on him, or just being Anthea?

'Oh! You're a guy, single, obviously have no plans, and can't take your eyes off of me. Ex-military too, that could help with Will…'

"Err, what?"

She giggled. It was truly a delightful sound.

'I'm asking you out on a fake date so my ex-boyfriend will stop bothering me. But who knows, you seem like a nice guy, maybe it won't end up just as an excuse. So, 7:00, Martinelli's. You're late, I walk. I'm late; I may or may not show up. But you'll wait for me. Oh! Here's your flat.' And with those words, she was once again glued to her phone, punching in numbers and letters, sliding around appointments for her boss, occasionally, but mostly editing her own social calendar.

That's how John Watson got a date with Anthea. Sure, it wasn't romantic, or based on mutual attraction for each other, but who cared? It was _Anthea._ He took every precaution possible to make sure he wasn't late, and ended up arriving 20 minutes early. Anthea strolled in 25 minutes later, looking bored.

'Oh, hello.' God, she looked beautiful. Her dress hugged her tightly, but not enough to make her look like someone easy, just enough to make her look amazing. Its pale blue accents really brought out her eyes- She had amazing eyes, really, stormy eyes that could manage to look blue, grey, and green all at once. He recognized them, from somewhere, he just couldn't put his finger on it…In fact, a lot of things about Anthea were vaguely familiar.

"Your eyes…they're beautiful." She looked slightly amused at this.

'Oh, don't offer me a seat or anything. Go ahead, barge on and blurt out things about my appearance.' She ignored his sputtered apology, smiling.

'I'm so glad you noticed. I spent a few minutes looking for something that matched them. Most guys don't notice anything about my appearance unless it involves a boob job or me showing up in a bikini. But' it's much too cold for that.' She winked, and continued on.

'I try to stay pretty natural. I don't dye my hair, I don't wear contacts. I worked hard for this tan, spent an entire summer on the beach. I'm naturally pale like Sherlock and Mycroft; I don't know how they can stand it.'

That's when it clicked for John. The dark, almost black, curly hair, the eyes whose colors reflected moods, the condescending sense of humor.

"You're-You're not Sherlock's daughter, are you?" She laughed that same, familiar sound.

'Oh no, no. Sherlock and I are only 10 years apart; he doesn't really come off to me as an authority figure. No, Mycroft is my father.' Seeing John's awestruck look, she explained.

"Teenage pregnancy. I was given up for adoption and found my parents after I turned mom was nice enough, but was firm on the fact I couldn't be associated with her image of a perfect businesswoman. Mycroft gave me a job."

'Wow, I mean, I never would have guessed…I only said something because you have the same eyes as Sherlock.'

"He does have wonderful eyes. If he wasn't so blunt, I know a lot of girls who would like him. A few guys too."

And from that, they dissolved into insipid first date talk.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was clutching Charlie, pouring out more words and emotions than he ever remembered.

"See, when John moved in I did it because I needed someone to share the rent with. I didn't really care, I assumed he would stay for a week or so, 2 weeks at tops, and then murmur something about a job taking him to a different part of the city, or some other polite excuse for moving out. That, or tell me I was a demon and not even god could save me, and then leave. That was what had happened with everyone else, why would he be different? I have no idea. But he _is_ different. He's still here, and it's been months. He may call me insensitive, but he thinks I'm good, somewhere. He doesn't call me a freak. He is awed by what I do, but doesn't resent me for it, or shy away from me because of it. He appreciates it, and helps me with what I do. And I feel some…gratitude, because he saved my life. But it's only gratitude, right? I've never had a friend before; I don't know what's normal and what's not."

"I care about him, but that's what friends do. Normal. I want him to be safe. Normal. I want to impress him. Normal. I want him to always need me. Normal? I don't want him to be with anyone who's not right for him, and no one is right for him. Normal, right? I think _I'm _right for him. Now that, I don't think is normal. I've never cared about anyone, which means no emotion. So I'm a dysfunctional sociopath, who only has emotions regarding one person. But what _are_ those emotions? I refuse to say I love him. I don't. I…I wish to combine our genetic code so my bloodline will be continued. Very primitive, nothing I can control. And nothing more than that. Highly ironic seeing as that is impossible…"

Sherlock groaned and flopped face down on the couch, then looked up at Charlie.

"It's not just that though, is it? It never has been. He'll always be my friend, my blogger, my doctor, first. That's not pure lust. That's-don't make me say it."

A pause.

"Love… I-I _love_ John Watson."

He made a face as though the word had left a bad taste in his mouth. Sherlock was very against the "L" word, and he had just used it to describe how he felt about a person. A person that was alive, and in no way a part of a case. That was a first. This was all John's fault! He had been fine before, very much unattached, very alone. Then John came alone and suddenly he had a friend and someone who cared about him! It was disconcerting, but…nice. A warm, safe, tummy butterflies nice.

"Emotions are _hard._" You could practically hear the sulk in his voice.

At this point, Sherlock sighed and became silent. He glanced out the window, and saw a couple under a halfway lit park bench snogging each other senseless. Usually, this wouldn't bother him, but he was already feeling emotional about John, and he didn't need it rubbed in his face that John counted him as a friend, and only that. It didn't help that the man looked remotely like John, so he was reminded he was out with _someone _who wasn't him, who would eventually take John away from him, forever…

He strode the length of the room rather quickly, and threw his window open.

"Oi! Yes, you two, on the bench! Do take it inside; we all know you're going to get in her pants, so do it somewhere we all don't have to watch, so I can fantasize over my flat mate in peace!"

There was a pause, then,

"Sherlock? Is that you?' John peered up, squinting against the streetlamps.

….Shit. Maybe that decision had been a bit rash. And was that…? It was! He was on a date with Anthea! His _niece_!

"He's too old for you, Anthea!"

'Hello, Sherlock.'

He slammed the window down, and stalked back over to his laptop, typing furiously, pretending he didn't just tell his only friend how he felt in front of his date, who happened to be his niece, who would undoubtedly relay the information to his over protective brother. This was _not_ fair.


	4. Chapter 4

"Uh, Anthea, I'll um, call you. I should go deal with Sherlock…"

Anthea just shrugged and waved airily as she walked away. She paused for a moment, and turned around.

"You know, we had bets on when this would happen, Mycroft and I."

'Sorry, when _what _would happen?'

"When you and Sherlock would get together. Mycroft owes me a day off now. Well, bye!" And Anthea was once again leaving.

John simply stood there for a few moments, still trying in vain to see Sherlock against the glare of the lights and sort out what had just happened.

_He's just my friend. That's all he is. _That thought had echoed in John's brain many times in the past few months, along with _Oh my god, I love him. I love Sherlock Holmes, the man without emotions. What the _hell _is wrong with me? _

John had been struggling about what he did and didn't feel about Sherlock ever since their first case. You don't just kill a man for someone and then not wonder why you did it, what emotions drove you to it. And as far as John had figured out, those emotions were love. He had kept quiet because it was bloody Sherlock; there was no way they would ever happen. He would rather be Sherlock's friend and suffer in silence then be forced by awkwardness to move out. He had tried to move on, he really did. It just never worked. He would go on a date, and the entire time think about how _boring_ and_ normal _and completely chaos and Sherlock free the whole thing was.

Sherlock felt the same way, though. This completely changed everything. After John's initial confusion, he was ecstatic. The man of his dreams felt the same way about him. How lucky could he be? He was going to go up there and settle everything, and it would be perfect. Sherlock and John. The Detective and His Blogger. The only question was how to approach it…


End file.
